Break A Leg
by 13.shimer.13
Summary: Breaking a leg is supposedly lucky. On Sam and Emily's wedding day, this is realised. WARNING: Heavy swearing.


Break a Leg

A _13shimer13_ short story

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight or any of its characters, that's Mrs. Meyer's job, not mine. That said, this pairing isn't officially in the book, but it _so_ should have been.

**A/N:** A quick Leah story from Leah's perspective (you find them everywhere, I know. I just couldn't resist). Hope you like it, and please take some time to review.

**Warning:** Contains a _lot_ of swearing. You see, when I was writing as Leah I felt the need for her to swear. A lot. But there isn't any violence, and no sex scenes, though there are a few mentions of sex.

**Before the wedding: Clearwater's residence.**

"Leah! Come on, we don't want to be late!" yelled my mom up the stairs. I don't know what she was talking about—I wanted nothing more than to be late. But because she's my mom, and she knows stuff like that, it took only seconds for her to call up a correction to her statement. "Alright, you wouldn't mind, but I would, so hurry up!" and automatically, I've started hurrying up. Because she's my mom and I want this day to be over. And when I say I want this day to be over, I mean that I want this day to be over in minutes. No. Seconds. I want this day to be over in seconds. And the day has barely even started.

What was Emily thinking? Making me bridesmaid! Me! Her precious Sam had told me—non-verbally and without meaning to, I guess, but that wasn't the point—that it hadn't been his decision. Given a choice, he would have had Kim. Or Claire. Or anyone else. He would have dressed Paul up, if he could've and made him do it. He was worried I'd spoil his special day.

As if! I didn't even want to go. No way. No way in hell. Those had been my words, and I'd stick to them. But my mom... she was a cunning one. Made me go, in a way. Guilted me. And that's how I ended up waking at the crack of dawn to go to a wedding I didn't want to, wearing a dress which stood for all I hated, and putting make-up on a pouting, scowling face which had my hair—styled nicely, for a change—floating around it.

I hadn't looked this pretty in ages. I hadn't tried to look this pretty in ages. And after this infernal wedding crap was over, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be trying again for a while.

I put on the matching gold high heels, grabbed the matching gold purse, and walked down the stairs carefully. I hadn't looked in the mirror, except to put the make-up on—I didn't want to see what the dress looked like on me.

Because it was white. And it was fluffy. And it looked more like a bride-to-be's dress than a bridesmaid's dress. It was cruel—so, so cruel—of them to expect me to go in this dress. This dress would have been a perfect wedding dress for my own wedding. My own wedding that I would never get. And I couldn't be annoyed—not properly—at Emily. Because we're related. But how much pain, how much hurt, did she think I could take? Wasn't it enough that I would go? Wasn't it enough that I had tried hard, really, really hard, to look my best for it? No. I had to be bridesmaid, too. And as I was bridesmaid, I had to have a specially chosen dress. And as Emily's theme was gold and white, and her own dress was to be gold, I had to wear white. And that was an injury too deep, with just a tad too much salt, for my liking in it.

How much pain could I take? Not a lot. My threshold for pain was low: it lasted up to the going to the wedding bit. It was torn in two by the bridesmaid part. And it was completely killed by the dress.

When I went to the ceremony which was to be held on the beach, it would look like I was the bride, with my pretty white dress decorated with golden feathers. And that was how it should have been, would have been, had it not been for Sam's unnatural ability to turn into a werewolf.

Oh, and my own, too.

That's me: Leah Clearwater, first known female werewolf and all round bitter bitch, pleased to meet you. But not really. The pleasure should be all yours. And if it isn't, do I give a shit? No, no I don't. 'cause I just don't give a shit any more. I'm too numb, too pissed, and too damn depressed. I make emos look like a bunch of cheerleaders and jocks who're living in a freakin' musical with my shit. So, my ex-boyfriend is marrying my cousin who was practically my sister growing up, I can't have kids, and I can change into a female wolf when I'm pissed (which, you know, just gives solid evidence to the masses that I'm a bitch through and through). Oh, and my pack leader's in love with miniature vampire spawn, which is just wrong. She's what? 6 or 8 months old? He's a freaking pedophile. But hey! It could be worse. I could be in love with a leech, too. Or I could imprint with some ugly git I hated before I became a werewolf and shit. Or I could trip and fall down the stairs—nope. I spoke too soon. Too. Fucking. Late. I've just done it. Why do I have to think all of these stupid prophesizing thoughts? What am I, the next Alice?

**10 minutes later, still before the wedding: Cullen's residence.**

"Holy mother fucking shit! Perverted leprechauns! Horny fifteen year olds! Beer on fire! Wine on drugs! Fuck me, this fucking hurts, oh fuck this fucking shit, I can't fucking handle any fucking thing else!" I was screaming my head off. Loudly. But it was okay, because the Cullens can't have neighbors, unless they kill them or some shit like that.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit, shit!" I swear like a sailor when I'm in pain. And I feel in pain a lot. So I swear a lot. It's like my natural defense or something...

"Please calm down, Leah." Said Carlisle calmly. He's fucking immune to my bloody language. He doesn't even seem to notice when I move to French, so I move back to English—at least that way I can understand what I'm saying instead of making up half of it. Between saying the usual—'sacre bleu', 'merde' and 'oh mon dieu', I'm sure I said 'Bon appétit' and 'Bon voyage' at some point. But Carlisle's a fucking ninja. He just acts like it is normal for people to show up with a broken leg and a mouthful of vulgar language. I just wish he'd kick the big one out of the room. Emmett's a fucking prick; he keeps laughing at my pain.

Mind you, he's good to practice on. I've changed my mind. Leave the idiotic leech in the room. He just seems too amused by my constant stream of insults and curses to fight back. Which is always refreshing.

"You smell like a fucking lump of shit—haven't you ever fucking heard of fucking soap, shampoo and conditioner?" Not even lies. The old man trapped in a teen's body smells like shit. It's probably concentrated old people smell.

"Your wife's an over excited midget! No, wait that was the other weirdo's wife. Yours is the blonde on drugs, right?" He doesn't even bat an eyelash. Hah. Bat.

"Ow, ow, ow, crap my leg kills!" I feel quite faint.

"I fucking hate high heels!" I've never said anything truer.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck, I hate Sam and Emily!" and then—before I know what I'm doing—I've burst into loud, embarrassing sobs. I didn't want to go to their stupid wedding and watch the ceremony, especially since I'm forced to take part in it. I didn't want to be the bridesmaid, second best to stupid Emily. I really didn't want to have to do it all in this dress, which would have been the perfect dress for my wedding.

It takes two seconds for me to calm myself. Now isn't really the right time for a break down. Fuck, it was probably the psychic's sidekick playing havoc with my fragile she-wolf emotions. Oh well. I can forgive and forget—I have a wedding to go to. My waterproof mascara isn't running—I should hope so, that shit was expensive—and you couldn't tell I'd been crying unless you had really, really good eyesight. Carlisle's finished messing around with my leg, and I can walk fine again. I'm ready to go and watch my cousin and my ex suck face, dance, and leave to spend two weeks fucking in England. Same weather, but further away. And Emily will have a different name. Emily Uley. Which sounds better? Leah Uley or Emily Uley? Even to my ears the latter sounds right. They're made for each other, after all. And I meant nothing.

So I walk down the stairs in the Cullen's mansion, say bye to the vamps (with a special parting blow to Emmett—"your human mom tried to drown you at birth, but you were such a bad son you just wouldn't drown!" and a finger to the emotion changing bastard) and the Loch Ness Monster (Jake's at the wedding, of course) and run to the beach. My leg feels fine once more, and I'm going to be five minutes early. My mom's idea of late is only fifteen minutes early, but mine, like so many other people's, is past the time you were supposed to be there. My mom's a stress head like that. So my mom was like, come on Leah, we're going to be late, when really it was like thirty minutes before its starting. Yeah, 'cause, then I fell like five minutes later, and then ten minutes later I was at the Cullen's and Carlisle was part way through the healing part. Then five minutes later I had left the Cullen's and it only takes me five minutes to get from there to the beach.

Fuck, I hate math too.

Oh fuck it, I'm here.

It's going to start soon. Sam's here. Emily will be here soon, and I'll be walking down the isle in front of her. It will make me feel even more like shit—I'll probably start thinking I'm the one getting married and try and walk up where Emily's supposed to stand.

I think I'm going to cry.

Everyone's in place. Except for Emily. The bride has yet to arrive—maybe she won't! Maybe she's decided to stop with the imprinting crap and leave Sam to me!

As if. She's here. She looks gorgeous. Everyone thinks so, especially Sam. They're all "ooh"ing and "aah"ing like they're a bunch of fucking idiots. Wait, I forgot—they _are_ a bunch of fucking idiots!

I have to walk now. Down the isle. In front of her, trying to smile with tears in my eyes. They could be mistaken for tears of joy. By a blind person. Everyone knows. Everyone is thinking "What a lovely wedding. But it's such a shame about Leah..."

I don't need pity. I don't want pity. I want to be happy. Over it. In the clear. And normal again. Almost there. I'm gritting my teeth, forcing a smile through the tears. I whisper, "Congratulations," to Sam so that only pack members can hear. He smiles back with his eyes, happy on his big day.

Those eyes had smiled about me, once. And now they were Emily's. People never said Sam and Leah now. No. It was the Sam and Emily show. At least... at least they were happy.

Happy together. At least he was happy, even if it wasn't with me. I suppose if you love someone enough, you can let them be happy even if it isn't with you. There is only selflessness in this crap state of mind we call love.

They've asked whether anyone objects, now. Everyone looked at me, of course.

I stare ahead. Get married, already! I think. We can't sit here all day, for fuck's sake!

They say their vows beautifully. They're really fucking committed to each other. I applaud them. They'll last. They'll have kids—which will probably turn into mutant werewolves too, but potential parents are so fucking selfish. They should adopt, instead of bringing cubs into the world. Emily pregnant? No fucking way. Not until I can be, too. And that will probably never happen, so I'll gladly watch her ovaries shrivel up and die.

I never wanted kids. Not until I couldn't have them. Now I'm practically obsessed. I want to be a woman again—periods are welcome, they'll make me feel normal, not like the only early 20's menopausal wonder.

Emily's such a selfish bitch. She should go do a Bella—but succeed. Yes, I'm a bitch. I shouldn't wish death on anyone, especially not my cousin. But right now, I fucking hate Emily Davison.

"You may kiss the bride!"

I stand corrected. Emily Uley.

Fucking bastardly brat.

Jared's making a fire—they put the reception on the beach too. How romantic—not.

"Congratulations, cous." Ouch. That sounded bitter even to my ears... "Married. Wow. You must be so happy." I try to be good—I smile, I try to infect the emotion 'pleased' into my words. I nearly convince myself.

"Thanks for coming, Leah. Thanks for being my bridesmaid," She's beaming. Glowing with happiness, sparkling with enthusiasm. She's so happy that I came, so ecstatic because I was her bridesmaid. I put that smile on her face. I feel a bit better, my smile is more genuine. She is my delusional cousin who lets me hate her, be horrible to her all the time. She is my cousin, the one who made mud pies with me as a toddler. My cousin/sister thing that ganged up on Seth with me—somebody had to, to toughen him up.

The three musketeers, as we got older.

Best friends as well as family, ever since day one. More than siblings and cousin.

And now she's married! I've watched her grow, and walked her—sort of—down the isle. We've shared everything—including our taste in men, it turns out. And yes, he loved me too. He just loved her more.

I'm not unhappy about it now.

I'm over it.

I'm laughing hysterically, light headed and grinning. The party is silent as the waves roll by and my laugh—my old laugh, returned to me once more—burbles as a brook, overflowing with happiness for them.

I'm hugging them, embracing the change.

"Congratulations, Em! I'm so glad you're going to be happy with him! I forgive you! I mean, I know it wasn't really your fault—you can't say no to true love, after all. I forgive you too Sam, for everything. You know what, I'm over you! I'm finally over you." Everyone is laughing, stunned beyond belief. We're crying, glad everything is okay again. Nothing is back to normal—but then again, what is normal? It's just a word, a useless, stressful word, and—

And then I see him.

And my world stops for seconds.

And once it's started again, everything is different, fresh. I've woken up, seen what was right in front of my eyes.

The blindfold is off, and I can see him—actually see him—from a new window, perspective. It's like the sun has finally come out.

How did I not notice those eyes before?

How did I ignore his body?

How did I survive without...?

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no.

I've imprinted, haven't I?

I have.

On Embry Call.

How the fuck did that happen? One minute it was hate, the next closure… after that there was only the fuzziness.

The impossibly happy feeling of imprint.

He's smiling at me.

I'm smiling at him.

We look so fucking deranged, I'm starting to question sanity and its existence—because as far as I can tell, it _doesn't _exist—and then he's walking, I'm walking. Across the beach. By the fire and the romantic barbeque. Along toward each other. Before we know it, I'm staring into his eyes and he's staring right back.

Instant love.

"Fuck," I whisper. This shit is intense—so, so intense—and I don't know what to do! But I know I'm happy to be alive, right now. The past is insignificant and it's all I can do not to kiss this man, this wonderful, wonderful man. Who would have thought it? Me and Embry Call. I hadn't noticed him before. I hardly paid attention to him before. What an idiot I was…

"Yeah," Embry whispers back. "Fuck."

We hesitantly hold hands and walk back toward everyone. My mom is smiling knowingly. My brother is about to start cheering us on like a cheerleader—Seth is such a girl—and Emily is happy for me, I can tell. From here on in, everything is going to get better—I can just tell. I mean, I'm no Alice, but it's obviously love.

All I can think, as we dance on the beach to the beat of the boom box is, thank _fuck_ I didn't imprint on a vampire. Imprinting is already like something out of a Halloween fairytale, but a vampire…? That would be a living nightmare. And my mom would kill me.

'Break a leg'. I guess I can appreciate how lucky that is, now.

**A/N:** So… review, I guess? Is it rubbish, good? What did/didn't you like, what could be improved etcetera, etcetera…?

For all who can't speak French:

Sacre bleu: Sacred blue

Merde: Shit

Oh mon dieu: Oh my god

Bon appétit: Enjoy your meal

Bon voyage: Have a good journey

4


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